Warning Signs
by Onions Make Me Cry
Summary: [1 x 2] Duo begins to feel self-doubt concerning his relationships with his fellow gundam pilots, and with his position as a soldier... a self-doubt which is beginning to carry him into dangerous, uncharted territory.
1. Warning Signs

Author's note: 1 X 2 / 2 X 1 (suitably spicy... they have sex, buuut, not really super descriptive. Its more like introspective.)

Anyway, I don't own. Period. (Anything. Nothing is owned by me, so not GW either.) So don't sue. Also don't flame. Because if you did, it'd be......... very unfriendly. Xx yes. And.... Oh, this is also my first serious gundam piece, so be kind. And that's all for real.

EDITING NOTE: yeah, is fucking the layout of this piece up the squashy butt, so I've thrown in a few cautionary periods to try and break up the paragraphs a little. (I hate runon text... it gives me a headache >.o)

Thanks!

**Warning Signs **(PART I)   
By Onions Make Me Cry

Do you ever get the feeling that sometimes you're supposed to be living somebody else's life?

"Get the zipper-- no, the," thump thump "the fucking zipper there. _There_!"

"Shut up."

"Oh my, what lovely romantic sentiments! You're a shitty Cyrano."

"Let me help you with that shirt, Duo."

"Ugnh!"

Somewhere along the line, I decided that this sentiment was pretty damn accurate at diagnosing my every day kind of mood lately.

"Are you sure Father Reeves is out?"

"It's two in the morning."

"He could be an insomniac. I mean, look at us! What are we doing?"

"Stop talking and get over here."

"Where else could I go? Those soldiers are out there! Plus, you latched the door already."

"You're beautiful."

"..."

"No comments?"

"I'm in love with you. How's that one?"

"It'll do."

Some days pass me by like a slideshow tumbling down the eye of a twister. On days like those I give up trying to slow anything down, because right from the get-go I know there's not a fucking hope in all of hell that I can catch the tail of that comet. Time runs full throttle down the back halls of my preoccupied mind, like some kind of naked streaker you know you should pay attention to, but just end up feeling bushwhacked by as he jogs past, balls flapping in the breeze. I've never been such a bonafide zone-outer. I guess not until now.

I've never done it in battle. Zoning out, I mean. But I'm beginning to wonder when that'll come too. The strange fucking thing about it, though, is that I could give a rat's ass if I did do it during a fight. I wouldn't care. Like a whacked out horror flick, I can see a zombie-me thrashing around on the ground in pain while a ghostly me pours out of my ear, personality vacating the body with all the verve of a gorged parasite. _Bye bye, Mr. Personality, see you around, Mr. Soul. I'll call you sometime, huh? _

Man, whatever.

I get lost. Lines of shooting stars zoom overhead, and the sky wheels past countless suns and moons before I look up again. I'm always in a different place. It's kind of like getting knocked unconscious for minutes at a time, only without that whole memory-loss thing. It's just... daze. You know?

I'm feeling it now. Especially right now. Yeah, definitely ESPECIALLY right now. The Daze rings in my ears as I stare at the crumpled blue shadow of what was once my favorite shirt, discarded minutes earlier and in the corner... And for a moment, I can't feel Heero's kisses, or hear the sound of his breath near my arm. _Damn it, Maxwell, your penis deserves more than this-- Stand at attention for Christsakes! _A litany of complaints from my half-heated loins. Pretty fucking strange, huh? Of all the places to go blank, in the whole fucking world, right in the middle of steamy hot sex action with my number one lover man, Heero "My ass is like a golden apple" Yuy, wouldn't be a choice I'd willingly make. But, fuck me, I do it anyway, pun definitely intended.

I'm peering from over top of one of Heero's salty, sweating shoulders, and our naked limbs flail and fumble in the darkness of the Confessional booth we're wedged inside, like two salty, sweating sardines. (A tricky hiding spot. One of my cleverer ideas... Thank you, thank you very much, Mr. Kinky, we won't be having any need of you for now, we're quite well stocked.) Heero's skin is giving me a tropical burn as our flesh digs together, but I might as well be taking a crap on the sun for all I'm attentive right now. For some... _fucking _reason... _that _shirt, _my _shirt, I'm convinced, is staring at me.

The sound of sirens sings past the church outside, muffled through so many layers of stone and insulation, and Heero pauses for a second. I can feel hard muscles stiffening against my body, though I can see very little of said figure from my current position front ways in his lap. (NO, Mr. Kinky, I told you no more sandwiches!) But my shirt I _can _see, apart from the sweating flat of dusty tan that forms first two shoulder blades, and eventually the rest of Heero's back. Everything else is cocooned in spindly shadows. The shirt lies in a haphazard little tangle of a ball far beneath me, smiling benignly in cottony wrinkles like some kind of slap-happy laughing Buddha-- I glower at it in a bout of sudden unexpected alienation. I'm having one of those out-of-body moments again, and I can't help but flash back to that little blister of a déjà vu which continually keeps coming back to ride my ass like some kind of rent-out party pony. Dazedazedazedazedazedazedazedazedazedazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzeeeeeeee. Bumblebees. Oh, Aces. Fucking great.

"Duo..?" I hear Heero quietly breathe into my ear, and suddenly I remember again where I am, though some strangeness still dogs my heels. Then the shirt gets shoved up into the narrowest corner of the booth by our bodies, and when Heero shifts a little into me, any inclination of alienation really is gone. In the darkness, I hear his shoe scrape up the side of the narrow wall and a whole fireman's brigade sets off a thousand alarm bells from that delicious place between my legs as we grind closer together. I wrap my ungainly limbs as tightly around him as I can manage, already feeling more than a lot like a hot skewered kebob. (But a tasty one. With sauce.)

"hmmm." The vague noise is the least I can do to acknowledge that I heard his call before. Though briefly I wonder how it would have been possible for me to miss such a thing. It wasn't like we were sitting at opposite ends of an arena or anything... stuff like this is kind of like a group outing.

Heero runs his hands slowly down the insides of my thighs, and I moan a little louder than I intend.

"There you are." He murmurs, and fingers the temperature of a furnace close around my lips briefly soon after. I know he's trying to silence me. Fortunately for us though it's night time, and by all rules and regulations, only a few extreme devotees and maybe the priest would still be hanging around... man, what's up with things that are extreme these days? Extreme with a capital X. Xtreme devotees, Xtreme skydiving, Xtreme toothpaste...

Through the grating in the high window I can see dust particles as they float aimlessly on a little slice of light. Heero is moving underneath me again, and my eyes roll up into my eyelids, shutting out the image of those sluggish particles, and I dig my fingers deeper into his messy hair. God I love his hair... So untidy-- haha, it must be such a bitch for him to deal with that...the way it defies any kind of bullshit gravitational laws and sticks up at all angles like a fuzzy sea anemone. Mr. Organized won't ever get this shit to lie flat. Especially not after what I'm doing, riding him like a carousel with fistfuls of hair for reins. (Oh, _carousel_. Jesus Christ, thank you, Mr. Kinky, take the evening off.)

Heero sighs underneath me, and my stomach clenches in pleasure. _God Damn, it's still good to be me sometimes, _I try to remind myself. I don't have to try very hard to do any convincing though. It seems easier now somehow. No small fucking wonder, considering the circumstances. I might as well have been fucking a champion athlete. I'm suddenly a millionaire, sitting kingly atop a throne of steel that's pointy in all the right places, and smooth for everything after. A couple of mildly interesting stallion metaphors also pass me by like moths in the night, but I ditch them in favor of better things. Whatever. Forget stallions. Time to think simpler. I can see myself now, but against some erotic tropical beach setting like a bad backdrop for a harlequin romance... I'm a giant wobbling penis on two skinny, trembling legs. Yeah, that seems more accurate. And look! There's big penis in the cockpit (haha, cockpit) of Deathscythe! Look at him bashing at the controls with his silly rubbery head. Sure, we'll win this war. Definitely.

But enough of that. Heero is squirming again... a motion I find delicious.

"...Heechan..." the sound of my own voice seems muffled by the oppressive heat. Well, that, and my enormously pleasing erectile condition. He doesn't answer, but does move against me a little harder, and grates his nails down my back in a way which is also kind of pleasing. I shudder blissfully, almost seeing the drops of sweat and lust flying off me and sticking to the thin wooden walls that surround us. I can feel breath coming harder against my arm, and as I rise and fall against him, I can tell what's coming.

Leaning back a little, I rub our foreheads together in a kind of gungy, sweaty comradery, and clamp my hands around the other boy's ears.

"Tell me this was a good idea."

Heero cracks open lusty eyes, but I can barely make out his face in the darkness. They hold their own dazed expression, from what I see, though one which is definitely not a neighbor of what mine recently was. I give Heero a heady kind of shit-eater grin, and he returns the sentiment, but in one of those mild, contented smiles that I can never catch.

Beautiful. Well fuckall, that's it for me.

"Duo, shut up."

"Hey, fuck you, Yuy." I pant, digging my fingers into his hair again.

"You are."

But he's still smiling a little, so I let the words slide. God damn, what an excruciatingly sexy expression. Fuck me with that expression-- I want it in me. God damn. God damn god damn.

I get what I want soon enough.

>>>>

We're lounging in the living room of one of Quatre's many safe houses. (Actually, I'm lounging. Heero, as far as I know, isn't capable of lounging.) I've usurped the most comfortable position on the couch, keeled over on my side with a nice cup of fizzy soda and a glossy magazine. While I sip noisily and listen to the sounds of Quatre and Trowa racketing around in the kitchen, I turn the pages of my, no, catalogue, not magazine, I'm not really paying attention, and take in the simple glory of doing nothing.

"'sfor dinner?" I ask Heero. He's at the desk across the room with that fucking laptop. But I only ask because the sound of his typing is driving me bonkers.

"Ask Quatre."

"You don't know?"

Heero's fingers come to a halt, and I can see him flexing them stiffly. Frustration sings in the stiffness of his shoulders, and I sigh loudly. I try to scale it at about a 6 or 7 on the obnoxious meter, but obviously it doesn't warrant any snapping, because moments later, the typing picks up again.

Heero never could understand the delicate sport of slovenliness. Shrugging, I take a pull on my soda, which bubbles noisily.

Bangs and scrapes issue from the mouth of the kitchen, and I can tell Quatre is heaving pots up onto the counter. Little Hercules.

"Where did you guys go, last night?" The blonde's feminine tone wafts into the living room like a fluffy spring cloud. I know he's talking to me, because he never yells with Trowa, and never makes idle chat with Heero.

I sniff a little, and giving up on my catalogue, throw it on the ground. Fuck it. Like I was reading it anyway... Flopping backwards, I hang my head over the arm of the couch. "Huh? What'd you mean?"

"Last night. After the raid? Wufei went looking for you and said he saw you ducking into a church. But after he went in, he said he couldn't find you."

"Oh," Heero's stopped typing, and I can see him staring at me in the reflection in his screen. "... really? Dunno why." God I sound so fake.

"I told him I thought you'd just found a different way out. Like through the roof, or a passageway or something." Thank the sweet Lord that Quatre was being particularly inattentive. He was usually the first one to pick up on lies and stuff. Fucking space heart... Or whatever crazy wizard thing he can do. I should buy him a crystal ball for his birthday.

"Y-Yeah. That's what we did. Back door." a second blessing falls when Heero begins to type again, and I feel his hit scrutiny leaving me. Oh, here are my balls again. "We must've missed Wufei by, like, the hair on a monkey's ass. Haha... You know how we can do that sometimes."

Quatre, in turn, peals out a few of his own sunshine streaks of laughter, like bells at Christmas, and we drop the conversation. Good thing too, because I'm beginning to feel the throb of blood in my forehead from hanging upside down like this. It's nauseating.

When we all sit down at the little scuffed wooden flat of a table to a feast of beans and rice, I smile pleasantly as I can at Quatre. He smiles back, the angel, and tucks into his beans with a lust strong enough to shock a Viking. Heero, to my left, is eating slowly and methodically, as expected, and I grin because I know he must be jiggling his foot. His right shoulder is shaking ever-so-slightly. (What can I say? I love in the smaller things.)

And then I look at Trowa.

I remember camping out with Deathscythe once. That night, coyotes circled the base of my suit. I'm sure they wanted to eat me. Or, eat something I had, whatever. What I remember was the way they stared. And all I can think is, that Trowa has been spending waaaaaaaaay too much time at the circus.

"What?" a few grains of rice fall out of my mouth with the question.

Trowa stares at me for a few seconds more, then glances at Heero, who, wouldn't you know it, is staring at his fork as it goes up and down from his plate. What a fucking cow. Way to help out over here, lover.

"...Nothing." Trowa murmurs quietly, but he shoots me one more penetrating glance before raising his own fork to his lips, and finally looking away.

_ Who are these people? _

The question dawns on me suddenly, like a light blinking out. Yeah, okay, Heero, Quatre, Trowa, gundam pilots and all that baggage. I know we must all be going to hell in the same hand basket, but I can't help but pause to wonder at them, and at myself.

And here comes that same fucking déjà vu, with the hummmmm of a thousand bumblebees whizzing circles in my brain.

But I can't crack open any of my friends heads with a sledgehammer. I have no clue what any of them are thinking. I know a long list of basics. I have a proverbial manual growing in my mind of what to say to who and how to do it, but in the end, that stuff tells me squat about who they are.

Right?

I glance at Heero, who's still mechanically eating his beans, and I suck on the end of my fork.

"Duo, are you okay? You look a little worried."

Ah, there's Psyche 101. I was wondering how long it would take Quatre to begin peppering me with questions like that.

"Huh? What? No! I'm not worried about anything!" I laugh, a little hardier than necessary, and the blonde shoots me an uneasy grin. "Where would you get that idea?"

"I don't know... you just seem, preoccupied? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"I don't know what you mean." I say blandly, shrugging up and down just once.

Well, that wasn't convincing.

If there could be an action figurine of Quatre that, right now, I could make, you know, just off the top of my head, I think it would have to be a Hypno-Quatre. With detachable eyeballs that expand to the size of ponies when you add water.

Okay, I'm really not convincing.

- And fucking Christ, now Trowa is staring at me again too.

"Beans are good." I say in a pleasant voice, though inwardly I'm desperate to shift attention away from myself again and into the middle of the table where the food sits, steaming in hot bowls that suddenly look like giant, chipping contact lenses.

Quatre shoots me another uneasy smile, nodding thanks, and at last digs into his rice with the end of his fork. Heero eats on in silence.

_Who are these people?_ I think again, though this time with a touch more mystification.

We eat in silence, but I wonder as we move through the layers of rice and beans, who is really being eaten here.

But then again, that's how it always is.

(continued soon)

Ooc- wheeee! Part one of... iduno... three parts? Anyway, part one is done. Duo's feeling the burn of a little self-alienation... if you're a teenager, you are GUILTY OF THIS CRIME! Now get in that review box and write me some comments. XD


	2. Two Steps Forward

Author's note: Hey everybody… yes, part two is here! Hooray! And.. Confetti… and…. Yeah, okay, it really isn't all that exciting. But here it is anyway. Ready for a little 1 x 2 flashback action? I know I am. Plus, an assload of Duo's stream of consciousness. Also, does anybody know how to unscrew the formatting for uploading onto fan fiction . Com? My text is going all wonky and shoves all together every time I try and put in something with some space in it. O.o;;; Anyway, any help would be appreciated. Put it in the review section I guess? Thanks!

* * *

**WARNIG SIGNS** (part II) Two Steps Forward  
By Onions Make Me Cry

* * *

…… Time to take it back. …… 

To what do you say, a year ago? That feels about right, or so say my guts, anyway. But then again, you know they're all full of shit so, you're gonna have to just go with me on this one.

In the beginning, there was just the mission.

Actually, no, there was always the mission. But it was in the beginning, the middle, and even at the caboose end of the history of "us", and for all intents and purposes, Heero and I began from inside it. He'll try to tell you different sometimes, late at night when he's feeling sentimental, (which isn't very often) but he's always full of horse shit when he goes on about it. Maybe he's trying to protect his rep as Mr. Perfect, but I mean, fuck if I really know. He was always the same amount of mystery to me, though he got a little less cold once we started sharing the same blanket.

"Hey… Heero."

"What?"

"I was just wondering. What… does, what does all of this… you know, you and me… what does it-"

"…mean?"

"Yeah. I just can't help thinking that you… and then I--" sigh. "… fuck me, this is weird."

"I know what you mean."

The night we slept together for the first time wasn't exactly filled with rainbows and daisies. There wasn't a parade or anything like that… no trumpet fanfares, or bells and whistles, or fatass little cherub angels flying around with crate paper in their chubby little fingers. What was there, was about a good fifteen minutes of self-imposed sexual terrorism, and then an eternity's worth of lying in bed inside the horror of the silent, weighted aftermath. That's what happens when you burn it at both ends for as long as we'd been doing it-- being into each other and not talking about it. But then again, neither of us really wanted the attachments of another person-- the attachments that being connected with someone else would invariably bring along.  
So think about it. Really do think about it. What's involved? Reliance, dependence, coexistence. We're warming up here. Maturity, integrity, wholeheartedness. Okay. What else? Jealousy, animosity, degradation. Oh my God. Scornfulness, bitterness, sorrow. Fuck me, get me out of here-- Depravation, listlessness, loneliness.

And then…

Love?

I might as well have pissed my pants right then and there. I mean, come on, proverbial ball and chain much? But there it was anyway, in all it's tension and glory, in the form of a spray of mess across our otherwise pristine bed sheets.

"Shit."

"Will you stop talking?"

"What, were you planning on going to sleep?"

"…no."

It was the mission that did it to us. It was the heartlessness of being alone, and having to do what we do every day. And then it was pretty much sink or swim from there. It got Heero before it got to me, I think, though I'd get pounded into our kitchenette if I ever mentioned that idea to him, or to anyone else.

Sometimes, when we're together, and I can feel Heero's hands, and feel his breath, and taste his scent, I wonder about us, and if it could have been different. If it hadn't been for the mission.

…… No. We've got to go further back than that. ……

Okay, so maybe our first night together wasn't completely out of the blue.

I might have been an eency bit guilty.

You know, for… a little bit. Of what happened.

Fuck, fine, okay, so I was a lot guilty. But you know it wasn't like Heero was particularly helpful in the denying department. In fact he was pretty fucking deviant if you want to take it on that scale. He could have turned me down. He should have turned me down. Because, lemmie tell you, I'm fucking trouble on legs. I will mess you up. I'm like that little bit of mold on a piece of bread in the bag, that can turn a whole loaf green over night given the right circumstances. And sometimes, I'm worse than mold. I'm worse than idle chat, and I'm worse than breaking a bone or puppy's blood, or disemboweling a cat. I'm worse than burning a village, or poisoning the water supply, or scalping little girls. I've always been Death for as long as I can remember. It's a pet name to keep me company in the night, but an effective title. It's fitting I think. I kill people. I'm good at it.

And so was he. Heero. That was probably most of the attraction in the beginning, if you know what I mean. That he could do his job so well. I won't bore you with tangents about eyes the color of the ocean at night, or windswept hair or beautiful souls that fit in cookie-cutter molds along side handsome princes out of fairy tale stories. Heero and I were never like that. Because, to be honest, fairy tales always seemed like a load of crap to me. But maybe I'm just bitter because I never had them.

When we were starting, doing that thing were you stare at the other person from across the room for hours on end, we were fortunate enough to be at a boarding school. Mission, you see. So we had lots and lots of time and room to stew in our own juices over each other, while "it" was happening. There were never touching or anything… not so early. That was never Heero's style. But there were some pube-singing looks. And let me tell you, taking a crap on the sun really would have been a welcome change from one of Heero's lusty glances. They were always full-on.

War statistics, numbers, calculations of percentages of enemy casualties, all dangerous information gathered and burned inside me, and then I'd sit with my chin on my fist and watch him. I could tell that he knew, because sometimes I'd catch him with this look on his face… this mild kind of puzzlement behind a mask of calm all drizzled in hotsauce, and he'd stare back.

Okay, so maybe he does have beautiful eyes. I am only a teenager for fucksake.

I never planned on "us" becoming love. I don't think he did either. Crap, I mean, I don't think anybody does. Not really. But I can't help it. I fall in and out of love really easily, so that wasn't a lot of help. Plus, none of the others were ever like Heero. That fucking asshole. With his cool posture and that messy fucking hair, and that bastard attitude. God damn, I'm so into him.

But he never talks about us. I wonder what he thinks about all this.

Flash forward to present day. Heero and I have lasted a little longer than I anticipated. Which is, okay, really nice, but still a little weird sometimes. I know him a lot more intimately, and things in the sack have gotten a lot better since that first night together, as recent exploits in the House of the Lord can elude to. He's still as much of a bastard as ever, but I'm beginning to understand his reasons for being cold a little more than before.

"Heechan, tell me a story."

"I hate that name."

"Fine, Heero tell me a story. And make it a sexy one."

"Don't you ever sleep?"

"No. And get with the talkin'. I can hold this up all night."

"Once upon a time there was a little boy."

"Oh, this is exciting… I can tell it's gonna be good. Hold me closer."

"This little boy was very lonely and didn't have any friends to play with because he'd killed all of them by accident already."

"This is a very disturbing story."

"The little boy traveled through life miserable and alone until the day he met another boy, with whom he became friends. But alas, his new friend was an even greater monster than the little boy himself, and in the end, they destroyed each other and died in helplessness and disparage. The End."

"You're such a miserable bastard."

"I thought you didn't like fairy tales."

"I don't."

"Then shut up."

"How can I? Your story fucking sucked balls! Come on, throw me a bone here."

"You're still talking."

"I'll bet I'm the little boy. And you're my monster prince."

"You're also very bright."

"It's all your genius, just rubbin' off onto my body with your sweat. It's all you, man."

"Stop joking around."

"I'm not."

So in the end, it's just a dangerous process of steps. Two steps forward, one step back, right? Heero is still a little temperamental, (okay, a lot temperamental) but it isn't him I'm worried about. Mostly I think of myself, and wonder if I can hold my place. Not just with him, but with me. My job. My life. Sometimes I reflect on everything I've done and everywhere I've been, and I get overwhelmed. And then I catch Quatre shooting me these sympathetic looks, all oozy with the honey of compassion, and it drives me up the wall. Quatre and his hypnotist-eyes. Quatre with his perfect love. If only Heero were more like Trowa. But wishes aren't horses, so I won't fuck myself up the ass over that subject.

>>>>  
>>>>

We're in Quatre's safe house again. It's morning, I can tell, because Trowa put on a pot of coffee-- the strong, black, stomach cracking kind, by the smell of it. He can't drink any other type. He and Wufei both. But whatever… I'll put most anything in my mouth if it doesn't have a warning on the bottle with a chemical sticker.

I fell asleep on the couch in the living room, I guess. That must be why I'm here… and with a crick in my back, I sit up, a little bitter that Heero didn't bother to move me. (My lover is full to the brim with concern for my physical well-being)  
The dry, molding taste in my mouth makes me grimace, though not before my head begins to pound in time with the lurching of my stomach. The coffee table is littered with empty beer bottles, and I give a weary, sick sigh. Being hung over is always the best way to be, right before a really important mission, huh?

"Morning, Maxwell."

It's Wufei, striding in with a cup of coffee and the paper, looking absolutely sick with health.

"Hey."

"Did you sleep there?" he looks faintly incredulous, and sits in an armchair nearby.

"Yeah." I want to vomit on his crisp white shirt to make him feel the way I do, he's so god damn fit looking.

"That isn't very good for your spine."

I want to break one of these beer bottles over my knee, and gouge hate messages across the flesh of his clean chest with the jagged glass.

"Thanks for the advice."

"And, Yuy didn't wake you up?"

Fuck being pissed at how clean he is. That crossed a line. Now I want to saw the shiny shoes off his feet and shove the dismembered limbs very, very far up his ass.

"No. He forgot, I guess." I grit.

Wufei seems totally oblivious, and that fact makes me burn all the more. With casual fingers, he unfolds the paper and his head disappears behind the stock market reports.

"Too bad." he mumbles, before totally sinking into his morning activities.

A few moments pass by, with me staring flaming balls of shit in the direction of my comrade, before I have no other option but surrender. Whatever. Fuck it. I'm petty. It probably really isn't as bad as I make it out to be. Plus, I feel kind of like a gorilla crapped me out upside down anyway, so, arguing probably wouldn't be the most helpful thing I could do.

Heero is missing from our room when I go in. Always the worker… he's probably out doing some recon, or shit like that. I don't know. The morning is a rough time for me. The bathroom greets me in a friendlier way, though-- or at least, in the sense that it's there like I wanted it to be. (Unlike certain people whose names begin with H and end with -eero, who will remain unnamed.)

And then it's easy to forget everything. Sinking into the luxury of a full tub of steaming hot water is precisely the thing my wanting flesh is in need of. God, if only fucking could be as good as this. Well, sometimes it was as good, I guess…Especially with Heero. But there had to be a mood. And sometimes a confessional.

"Duo."

I hadn't realized I'd closed my eyes, until the voice at the door made me open them again. Up to my chin in water, I burble a greeting at none other than Heero. Ironic he should show up now, when I was thinking of precisely the thing only he could help me solve.

"Hrrrrwooo."

He looked decidedly un amused. That mirthless shithead.

"Why are you in the tub so late? Everyone else is up and out."

I sit up, and slosh my washcloth over my shoulder. My hair is sticking to my back, and it's beginning to bother me. "Not Wufei." My voice cracks some much needed dryness into the thick moisture of the bathroom. "He's sitting down there waiting for his morning coffee enema."

Heero lifts his left eyebrow ever so slightly… the equivalent of an eyeball rolling, if I ever did see such a look plastered on that man's face.

"Man, whatever. It's your fault anyway." the accusation flops weakly. My headache is making me nauseous. "If you hadn't left me on that fucking couch, I wouldn't be so sore and-- what are you doing?"

Heero's green shirt thuds softly in the corner by the toilet, followed closely by his shoes. Then his jeans go, and then the boxers, (I didn't like them anyway,) and lastly, go the socks. (God damn, that boy could wear Swedish knee-highs naked and make them look full on.) Padding unabashedly nude over to the side of the tub, Heero shoves my shoulder forward, and clambers in behind me. "I slept on the couch with you. Move up."

"Your fingers are cold." I shudder, feeling the insides of his legs close around mine under water, and the icy vice grip he has on my shoulder simultaneously. Wait, he slept with me on the couch? Heero, my angel of mercy! I forgive you, I forgive you.

"I was outside. It's December."

Peering a little over my shoulder, I lean forward to make room for his elbows. "Don't you have work to do? Like, extreme super agent recon stuff?"

"No." A simple answer, quite fitting of Heero. But it goes along with that fucking monotone, so I can't tell what his mood is. I can never tell what he's thinking.

"Where are Quatre and Trowa?"

Fingers snake around my hips, and begin to trace circles in places I'd be embarrassed to mention, if Heero hadn't been there a thousand times before.

"They're out."

Oh. That's what he's thinking.

I bite my lip to stifle a groan-- I can't tell if all of this feels really good, or will result in me vomiting all over myself. (Talk about embarrassing.) My stomach is in that kind of midpoint, where it could go either way.

"You're leaving tonight." He announces in that husky voice… the one which tells me a lot more than whatever words are coming out of his mouth. His hands are also kind of a hint.

Hair is falling in my face, and I twitch irritably and pull it away from my eyes. I feel less sensual by a long run. "Yeah... Mission. Must go. So sorry."

"How long before you have to start preparations?" His voice is hot on my ear, and I shudder again as he squeezes down low with his palms.

"I could… put it off for a while…"

Heero's fingers are beginning to work faster now, in smooth pumping motions that cause the surface of the water to contort into wide faced, shining bubbles. I sink my head down, sighing. A minute later, I at last give in and let out a shallow moan. I know he loves that shit, and it feels so good. At least good enough to give him what he wants. I mean, if he wanted a dancing bear, I'd figure out how to get one for him just to feel the way his stomach is tensing against my back. At least he's pleased with all of this. Because, most times, he's just… not. Miserable unhappy bastard. No wonder we fit together like little puzzle bits.

"unnnh… where's the soap?" the words come out of me before I really understand what I've suggested. A minute of processing really doesn't help though. I feel about the same.

"So soon?" sweet, melodious tones waft from behind me.

My half-nausea, on top of too much arousal makes me short tempered. I also hear that gritting your teeth is supposed to be really bad for you.

"Look, if you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to puke up everything in my stomach into this bathtub, and that, I promise you, really, really will be a penis kill. Get me?"

I can't tell whether he's smiling or not, but the satisfaction comes when I feel him twisting against me as he forages for what we need. A few minutes later, I'm flopped compliantly over the side of the tub like a wet sponge. Angels! Stars! Damn, and fat little cherubs with crate paper too. Bells and whistles, and confetti and a trumpet fanfare to go along with. God damn.

Heero pulls me hard up against him, and I'm lost. Just, fucking… gone. He can do whatever he wants. Anything. I don't care. I mean, even if I hadn't had the time, I doubt I would have been able to turn away. Sometimes I have these thoughts like, what does this make me into then? A whore? A sex maniac? Shit, a masochist? I don't know. Maybe none of them. (But probably all of them.) What I do know, is, Heero's hands on me are what I need right now. I need to feel him, like I felt my anger downstairs. It grounds me, I think. Helps me focus. Helps me zone out less. What is that, anyway? Man, I just feel so lost these days.

I saw this coming. I did. It was never like this before, when I was still alone.

* * *

Author's Note: HAH!… well… kind of hah… I was going to add another part to this, and then I thought, WAIT! There will be other chapters, right? Then don't worry about it! So I sedated myself with that thought and ended it here. (Am I a babbler? I think I must be. oo) AAAaaaaanyhoo, Duo's researching himself and his relationship to the world through heero in this chapter. Kind of vague, I know, but a lot of this writing was brainfarting on my behalf, so pay me no mind. 


	3. One Step Back

**Author's Note**: Okay, here we are at part three. But this isn't going to be a three part piece anymore, though. Noooooooo way. Nuh-uh. More than three. At this point, I really don't have a clue about where this story is going to end. But, hey... I guess this isn't a super serious writing exercise or anything, so whatever. Brain farting and all. I don't know. Review if you feel like it. And please, feel free to liberally suggest any future plot ideas. All I really have is, that Duo is tottering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. (OO;)

anyway...Thanks!

* * *

**WARNING SIGNS** (part III) One step back

By Onions Make Me Cry

**- Come on in /**

**I've got to tell you what a state I'm in /**

**I've gotta tell you in my loudest tone /**

**that I started looking for a warning sign.-**

* * *

From this height, just about anything hitting the ground could potentially become liquified.

You know, like jell-o splattering all over a walkway. Watching the ground from so high up, despite the rapid pace at which my body is approaching it, I can't help weird thoughts like that. It doesn't seem to matter that I'm plummeting towards my imminent and painful demise at all. Whatever. I'm strange huh? I mean, I could be thinking about a load of other more important stuff. Like, getting a wind burn. Or, you know, did I put any suntan lotion on today? Or, if my fleshy human body were to hit one of those trees over there, would part of me remain stuck in the branches, and other parts of me do the jell-o thing? What kinds of animals would come to feast on the remains of my eviscerated corpse? I don't know. So far up in the atmosphere, I get kind of high. Less oxygen here, you know. Lucky my nose hasn't exploded or anything yet. Because a nose bleed could potentially be pretty messy at this altitude.

My feet are in the sky now. All I can see in the wide expanse of azure which makes up the dome of the world. Distant spots above me denote a battle still in progress, but I've opted out of that situation, just now. The suit I jacked was almost trashed anyway. So I jumped. So what? I'm a big boy. I can make my own damn decisions. And, fuck _you _Heero, for telling me otherwise. You and your cocky fucking attitude. Like you can tell me what to do. You can shove that up your ass, for all I care. Nobody but me's been there in forever anyway. It would be a change of scenery for once. Besides, I like toying with this idea of death. You of all people should be able to relate. Fucking adrenaline junky.

The wind whistling past me blots out any kind of sound other than the shrill banshee whistle of air rocketing around my figure. But I can still feel the explosions in the distance. They make my bones shake, and deep inside my chest quivers at each impact, as they send wave after wave through the air. Wing I can still see though. It's bigger than most suits, and is easy to pinpoint, even from a distance. Wing is a spark, bright against the blue of the sky, and somewhere deep inside the bowels of that foul beast is a monster ten thousand times more terrifying than the suit itself. The pace at which Heero is tearing through the enemy convinces me he's pissed as hell. Probably at me mouthing off to him before I made my exit.

Hey, at least we'll win the battle.

The ground is getting closer now, and with and experienced jerk, I flip back over. I'm upright, and I can see the green and tan clarifying into specific patches of wilderness and road. With a swift tug to the canvas tab strapped around my torso, my parachute unfolds into the air and my body comes to an abrupt, jerky stop. Ah, modern miracles of science. I guess I don't have the opportunity to die today. (It's so boring when everything goes according to plan.)

Strips of flesh along my chest begin to throb from where the straps are digging into me, as my com system, suspended by my left ear, blinks to life. It screams like a dying duck.

"Wak wak wak!" I shout at the thing, imitating it as I crane my neck to inspect the face. A few of the buttons are flashing red, and I have an ominous feeling about who might be on the other side. With hesitation, I flick down the receive switch.

/"DUO!"/ Heero's voice explodes from the mini com's thin speaker slats, and I flinch at the tone. Pissed as Hell may have been an understatement. /"Were you the one who swore to God and to me that you'd never pull a stunt like that ever again, or weren't you?"/

"Err.." The wind is coasting me nicely along, and I don't really feel like arguing all that much right now. The scenery up here is too pretty. "That must have been someone else." the vague reply pussyfoots around the issue, and even alone, suspended thousands of feet in the open air with nobody to look at me, I subconsciously try to pass an innocent expression.

/"God damn it, Duo-"/

"Alright, alright! Jesus Christ!" I cut in, before he has a chance to build up any steam. So much for the ignorance shtick. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! But come on, man, what else was I supposed to do? I was halfway to hell! My suit was totally thrashed."

/"You could have called for back up."/

"On your right." craning my neck, I peer up at the battle scene still taking place.

/"I see them."/ he slashes at an approaching formation, and they scatter like frightened children. /"Don't be a backseat driver."/

"I'm in a parachute."

/"Just, don't do it again. Convene back at the safehouse."/

Feeling the welling distaste of bitterness in the back of my mouth, I mutely shake my head. Shit, maybe I do feel like arguing.

"And what if I say no to that, Heero? What are you going to do?" the cocky tone burns the back of my throat as it comes up. "I dunno, what if I feel like going scavenging or something instead? You never fucking bother to consult me! I'm not your subordinate, man. I'm not even your partner! We, my friend, have a loose affiliation with one another under a common wartime goal. Not to mention I fuck you. Me, Heero. I. Fuck. _You_. How'd you like them apples, huh?"

/"we're in a war. Don't be a child."/ he's gritting his teeth. I don't have to hear it to tell.

"Whatever, Heero. You know, I'm so tired of your superiority bullshit. Just because you're crazier than the rest of us doesn't grant you the inherent right to boss everyone around." As the words tumble out of my mouth, growing in passion and fervor, I realize they feel good. I know I'm exaggerating, but a lot of my tirade is based in actual fact, so it's easy to spill. "And you sure as hell don't have a carte blanche to order my ass around. So fuck you, you arrogant bastard! I'm not having sex with you tonight!"

Whacking the front of the mini com with my fist, the signal fizzles out. Okay, so maybe I ended it a little lamely, but I still know Heero'll be royally pissed when I see him next. Whatever. I'm not up to groveling at his feet in apology right now anyway. I mean, so what if he was worried about me? About my safety? Who needs that? If I needed a mom, I'd go see Quatre.

Above me, the throbbing aftershock of the explosions of battle rain down on my head, and my ribs quiver. Now that the wind is out of my ears, I can hear the explosions as well... they're terrifying.

Unclipping myself six feet above the hard-packed dirt of the earth, I make my landing on my own two feet.

* * *

The dream is always the same.

I'm a kid again. Maybe four, or possibly five at most? I don't really remember that age very well, but for some reason, in my dream I can see everything about me in precise detail, down to my grubby fingernails, and the holes in the elbows of my jacket. In my dream, I'm with my mother. She, on the other hand, is a complete mystery. I see a curtain of soft, brown hair, and violet-blue eyes like my own, but I can't tell what she's wearing, or, even if she's smiling. She swoops down low and picks me up, to bolster me on her wide hip, and I see a warm, narrow room. The brick of the walls are a dingy, dirty red, but the floor is swept, and in the corner a warm fire is burning in a real hearth.

Heero is there. The one I know today. Squatting on a little wooden bench, he leans over on careful elbows, propped on his knees, and tangling his fingers together he stares contemplatively into the fire.

I'm a little older now, maybe ten, and I'm standing on the ledge of a corporate business building on Earth. The sky stretches above me, a wide expanse of blue scoured clean of all clouds.

"It's an omen." I say to Solo, who suddenly is standing at my side. He looks at me, his face full of an innocence that hurts to see.

"What's that?"

"Idunno. But Wufei says it a lot."

"Who?"

"He's part of my pretend family." I point behind us. An elaborate dinner party has been laid out on a long table, complete with delicate tablecloth and fine china. Around the table sit my friends, with Heero sitting sternly at the head. Quatre tiptoes around everyone's chairs, pouring wine and smiling, as conversation bubbles up into a pleasant din in the background. Trowa and Wufei tilt their heads together, and point at me.

"See?" I demand of Solo. But when I turn, all I can see is a pile of dirt. The confusion takes the child half of me, and I walk away, noting the muddy footprints which lead off the side of the building.

It was waking from such a dream that I found myself alone for the first time in months. But then again, this was the first time in months that I'd bothered to sleep outside of a city.

The motel room screams 1977, brown and moldy like the ancient remains of a slaughtered cow. Faintly, the TV offers snatches of dialogue turned down low from the morning news, and a series of dour faces flash across the fuzzy screen. Other than that though, from my sprawl across the musty sheets, silence surrounds me. For the first few moments of wakefulness, I make like a cadaver and pretend to be a discarded shell, my right leg trailing carelessly over the edge of the bed- but the game doesn't last long. I have an itch. I can also feel the slightly moist plush of the carpeting just underneath my big toe, and I know it must have rained while I slept. The smell of warping and expanding wood lingers stagnantly in my nose, and I have to scratch again.

I figure, I could punch a hole through any of these cheap balsa walls if I really wanted to, but at last, turning on my side, the faces in the wood grain change my mind. Old faced gentlemen stare at me from all angles, their mouths forming round knots of sorrow frozen in time.

/_Get up, Duo. Go to work_./ thoughts waft past, like mold spores. /_You've got to get a car. Or a bike, at least. You've got to jump your bill_./

It's strange here, so quiet. I haven't slept alone in a long time. Either Heero was there, or I was sharing a mission with one of the guys. I mean, I can take care of myself and all, no doubt about it, but... I don't know. You get used to a warm body nearby, and when it's gone, you sort of begin to analyze all the reasons why you liked it in the first place. Strangely, I'm kinda weirded out by the isolation. But what's worse than that, is that I'm weirded out about being weirded out.

And I'm also getting a major headache.

By the time the landlord rings my room phone at 11:00, I've shimmied out of the narrow bathroom window, and have cracked the lock on his storage garage. His motorcycle is mine in a matter of minutes.

* * *

Body fluids are a funny thing. You use 'em for sex, and for taking a wizz, and for lubricating your eyeballs. They have an infinite number of uses. We, as a protein rich carbon based species, can rot that excellently because of our body juices. They do everything for us, while asking very little in return. For example, blood clotting. Like when you have a disastrous and potentially life-threatening stomach laceration which may or may not have struck a major organ or six. All your body really needs is a few stitches, right? And a miracle from the lord above, but, whatever.

The wind is whistling in my ears again as I race down the road on the pilfered motorcycle, and away from the scene of my latest crime. Though, I can't tell anymore whether or not the bees in my head are still humming. Everything is a daze now, stars all concealed by the ominous trees which loom over me in the dark. Night is a dangerous time for driving, especially when you have a stomach wound significant enough to dry you out like a dehydrated apple slice.

So I goofed. But I never thought any of my missions would ever be anything less than a bitch. And I've had worse than this, before, I think. So, whatever. I'll live, right? I tell myself that very thing, over and over like a burial chant as the wind whisks away what warmth the blood soaking down my side and into my pants offers. Fuck me, I'm an idiot sometimes.

The scenery in front of me is beginning to go wonky, and I shake my head to clear the undulation from my vision. I've got to drive, here. I'm also almost positive that it isn't this dark for real, but, maybe things are different than in the city somehow, or on a colony. I haven't had a lot of experience with the whole Earth thing, and sometimes, Mother Nature, (that fucking cunt) can throw me for a loop.

Like, oh, now. Logs, fallen across the path. Should I, like, slow down or something? Or, I dunno, stop? But that would be crazy. I'm going to the safehouse. I can't think straight. Everything is a memory of a memory outside of myself. I'm somehow, detached. What did I eat for breakfast? I smell burning rubber, am I breaking? I don't know what that lever down there does anymore, but I feel like, at some point I used to know. Huh. It sure is cold out tonight, will my puke freeze midair when I spill my intestines inside-out across this earthy path? I wonder what Heero is doing.

I hit the logs, hard, and go flying. When I slam into the hard-packed earth, I begin to tumble, bright flashes of pain shooting out in the neutral abyss like blossoms of fire as I strike the rocks along the incline. I'm rolling downhill. The information tries to force it's way up, lukewarm like a dull emanation from deep inside the cavernous hollow of a seashell- But I can't quite reach it. I'm losing a battle for the first time, and can't even possess myself to be pissed off about it. What's up with that? I guess the shock kind of chucked me out of my mind already. Blood loss can be tricky like that sometimes, huh? Fuck me.

It's only when my body rolls into open air that I go black.

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* * *

**Author's Note II**: Ah-hahah! Take that bitches! Hmm, no, actually, it probably isnt all that exciting. I didn't like this chapter too much. (o.o;) Anyhoo, plot suggestions? Please please please yes thank you please - stick 'em in the review section. Anyway,thanks!

ps.(Song quotes at the beginning are Coldplay, btw.)


	4. The State I'm In

Author's note: Here we are at part four! Huzzah! Enter, Solo! Poor dead solo. Or, err... more importantly, poor dead CENSORED. Or is he? Or is he not? Or, WHAT IS GOING ON? Sigh, I'm so confused. This is what comes, children, from too many Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathons. Anyway, thats all.

p.s. Woah, does this text seem huuuuuge to you? How do i fix this? xx;;

* * *

Warning Signs (part IV) The State I'm In

By Onions Make Me Cry

* * *

-A warning sign /  
I missed the good part then I realized /  
I started looking and the bubble burst /  
I started looking for excuses -

* * *

"Wake up, Duo. Time to go..."

Blackness.

"Duo..."

Strangeness.

And then nothing.

I can hear the voice, familiar in it's own right– But something about this situation is making my stomach turn, like a barrel full of jellyfish.

Where am I?

"Hey! Come the fuck on, man, we're almost there..."

Soft prodding at my arm takes a sudden turn, and unfriendly fingers grab a pocket of flesh, above my elbow, and wrench it in a painful circle. Yelping at the pinch, I lash out through the darkness, and come to suddenly and sharply, thrown back into a lounging position in the front seat of a Volvo station wagon.

"What the fuck?" The words explode from me, blinding me, as a violent flurry of recollection and half-patched memories of the last twenty four hours whip past my bleary countenance all at once, a torrent of swirling, spinning images hellbent on my destruction.

For a few desperate seconds, I sit gasping, sucking air in and out of my lungs... lungs, which feel strangely papery– Like delicate, spindly ornaments. Fucking weird. I'm a fish out of water, aren't I? A fucking goldfish, flopped out of the bowl and set to thrashing vainly on the floor a thousand leagues away from home.

And then I realize something, after a few more seconds of personal self-assessment. My lungs aren't what frightens me the most. Most terrible of all, I can no longer feel the palpitations of my heart, deep inside my chest. That, at least, was something I should have been able to sense. Especially in the midst of the frenzy of panic I've stuck my whole fucking head so deep inside by now–

But nothing inside me is moving. Nothing is alive.

I feel strange again.

"That's better. I thought you were gonna sleep the whole god damn way!" lilts the familiar voice again, into the hollow cavity of my left ear. "You son of a bitch! And me coming up all special-like to pick your ass up, and everything."

Turning trembling violet eyes to the driver, I know I've finally died. Really, there can't be another explanation. Or, at least, not an explanation I can come up with, in any kind of near realm of possibility.

I've died. I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead.

Sitting with a cocky expression of half amusement in the driver's seat, one arm thrown back behind my headrest, is Solo.

Holy fucking shit, I really have kicked the bucket.

"You." I jab a finger at him accusingly, my eyes narrowing to slits.

Solo smiles a little, and shrugs. The look suits him, his features older now, and handsomer. Or at least, handsomer as I would have imagined he could have been, had he lived to be my age. "Me."

"What are you doing here?"

He reaches over with his free hand, eyes half on the road, and theatrically whacks me with his palm, in my forehead, like he used to do when we were little together. "Doufus! You fucking pea brain, come on, put two and two together!"

The words spill out like a jeopardy game show prompt. "I'm dead."

"Very good! Very astute... If you're like, in the second grade."

I narrow my eyes at the sarcasm, but skip over the comeback. I mean, what does it really matter anymore? Petty things like arguments. I've died, so I should be over it, right? Or, above it. Or.. Errr... below it. Whatever.

"Well then," I continue, finding my eyes being drawn out into the scenery around us, though the panic I felt before hasnt entirely died out. Now it seems more like a mouse, gnawing holes through my intestines.

We're driving down an empty country road, flat land stretching out into a limitless field on the left, and rising into great, shadowy spikes on the right, in a clearly defined pine forest. Between the woods and the road strings an endless line of telephone polls, which rhythmically bob and sway with the movement of the car, thick rubbery power lines rising and falling hypnotically. The sky is a bloody red, and bathes everything beneath it in an ominous orange glow.

"Where are we going?" Solo finishes for me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're gonna have to wait for that one, champ. I'm not allowed to tell you. This is purgatory, you know."

"What?" spit flies as I sputter the word. "Hold the fuck on for two little seconds, alright? So we're gonna have to just... keep driving? On and on for, like, forever?"

Solo's grin tugs a little further. "Oh, come on. This isnt that bad."

"But it's not that good, either!"

"So-so?" the grin is too much for my old friend, and he cracks into laughter.

I frown, in irritation. "I hate car trips. Especially long ones. I get all queasy."

"Dramamine in the glove box." his laughter tapers off a little, though not by much. His grin is also starting to annoy me. The look reminds me of Heero, strangely... when the morbid son of a bitch decides to grace the world with his smile. He always sucks the joy out of it by making some god damn cocky comment, or something equally annoying, the killjoy that he is and all.

Then the realization dawns on me.

Heero.

I'm feeling sick again, though this time I realize it must be entirely psychosomatic. I'm dead, after all.

"What about Heero?" I can't hide the edge from my voice, and I wrap my fingers around the door handle with half a mind to just roll out of the car and away. Solo quirks an eyebrow, but remains intent on the road. Though, now that I think about it, we're just driving straight here, which seems like no big challenge, so his intensity kind of bothers me. And, you know, really, to level that idea up a notch, this is all probably some strange Kafka-esque embodiment of the last few seconds of my life anyway, so Solo probably isn't even driving a car at all. Maybe, Solo isn't Solo either... Maybe I've actually been sent to hell, and I'm doomed to repeatedly question my situation, my motives, and the motives of others in an endless repetitive cycle of mistrust and distress.

And then Solo suddenly smiles a little, throwing me off guard.

"What about Heero?" He says the words as easily as referring to a dirty load of laundry, or a blandly interesting next door neighbor. God, I wish I could kick that expression down his face and into his ass.

"Well? What... what do I do? About him?" Thoughts of my lover are beginning to distress me. "You know, because true love happens like, barely once in every three lifetimes! Come on, take pity on my bleeding heart! Because I'm not sure I want to go somewhere he can't follow. That's just fucking weird. He's a super hero, you know."

"Heero Yuy still lives." The demurely smiling youth assures me, in placating tones. " Which, I guess, kind of proves your point, huh? Therefore, the probability of you seeing him any time soon is pretty low. Though..." Solo paused, considering. "No, actually, I take that back. He shows up from time to time, though he's always up and out again. Death is on that guy's heels. He'll be around soon enough, though I doubt the man upstairs will be saving a room for him."

That- shuts me up.

With slightly bugging eyes, I stare unabashedly at the side of his focused face.

To never see Heero again? Ever? Questions burn like battery acid in my stomach, though I know the pointlessness of asking them before I actually do. Solo will never answer my questions. At least, not directly anyway. But what he does know, is that Heero and I have irrevocably parted ways. Whether he meant to or not, that information at least, has been unearthed.

And then the thought of spending an eternity alone suddenly becomes much colder, and more frightening than I could possibly ever have conceived, before now. Shit, if I'd had a real, functioning bladder, I'm sure I'd pee myself right here and now.

Solo glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and his smile slowly begins to fade away. I can tell that he knows what I know. Death must be able to read all thoughts.

"It's not so bad... not like you think."

"What is?" the words feel dragged from me, the very core of them morose and heavy like I'm a baby deer and somebody's shot my mother, then ran over her with a tow truck

"Everything. Starting now. You'll be looked after." He's trying to comfort me, I think. "It really isn't that bad." (It isn't working).

I stare at him blandly, and the car continues to trundle down the broad strait of road.

From then on, we ride in silence.

* * *

somewhere in the real world...

* * *

The first greyish dredges of sunlight lit the willowy trees and shrubs along the riverbed with a dreary heave. Reflecting the sickly, ominous shapes of so many spindly branches, the murky water of the river came almost to a halt in this place, gathering in a loop pool where river crabs and salamanders gathered under the slimy rocks. It was here, in this place, that the unfamiliar shape of human shoulders could first be seen in the morning light, though somehow strangely at home in the eerily organic surroundings. Half washed up, half buried in the silty mud of the shore, the body was that of a boy's, with hair down to his hips soggy and matted with the twigs and bits of prolonged water exposure. Seeming asleep, he laid alone amongst the misting rocks, as river snails traced slimy paths up his bruised and filthy arm, and tiny glints of silver, shallow fish, nipped at his fingertips beneath the water. It was this image, just so, that was first presented to the horrified blue eyes of a one Quatre Raberba Winner from the shallow cliff above, early in the misty morning.

>>>>

>>>>

>>>>

* * *

Author's Note: AAH! Is he dead? It seems so! What is happening? And why has the tense suddenly shifted so dramatically? Everybody, grab hold of your butts, because we're going to the real world next. YES (XD) 


	5. Happenstance

Author's Note: OHMAGAWD a change of tense. Oo;; YES, the real world! Anyway, I'm thinking up some juicy plot ideas, so no worries. As for this episode... poor Heero. Aww. Shit, poor everybody. And for Wufei, being the paranoid one. (Strangely fitting, huh?) So that's all for now.

* * *

Warning Signs (part V) Happenstance

By Onions Make Me Cry

* * *

**/A warning sign  
You came back to haunt me and I realized  
That you were an island and I passed you by  
When you were an island to discover/**

**-(Coldplay)**

* * *

"Wufei!"

The cry echoed dully in the thick morning air, despite the panicked pitch which tainted the word.

Quatre Reberba Winner stood, one foot carefully rested on a precarious rock at the edge of the shallow cliff overlooking the river, and cried startled tears. His voluminous blue eyes were wide, and full of terror as he looked down into the scene below– At the stiff, immobile figure that claimed every ounce of his horror.

"Wufei, I found him!"

"What?"

The fumbling sounds of brush crunching under heavy boots drew nearer behind the blonde, until Wufei himself clambered down the final feet of the incline to greet his friend. But soon enough the Chinese boy stood as still as his counterpart, his own eyes rounding into circles of fear and alarm.

Silence took the boys, and Wufei laid a careful hand on Quatre's shoulder, though whether for the younger's comfort or his own, it would never be clear.

Duo lay half buried in the silt and mud of the shore, his skin a ghostly shade of white even in the murky light of early morning.

"Don't tell Yuy." Wufei suddenly spoke at last, sounding stiff with the effort to contain himself. "Tell him we didn't find anything."

Quatre whipped his head around to shoot Wufei an angry glare. "What are you saying? Just let him... rot there?" tears of frustration were welling in his eyes. "I can't! I won't!"

"You have to!" Wufei suddenly shouted, taking a hold of Quatre's sleeve. "We have to get out of here before Yuy and Trowa meet us in the middle! We'll come back for the body later... Don't you get it? That way, it'll be easier to break the news. Yuy will... he'll... I have no idea how terribly he'll react to this. We've got to go. Now."

But Quatre wouldn't come. Instead, he wrenched free of the grip on his arm, and began to clamber slowly down the face of the little cliff. Wufei stood and watched from above, his face cracking and contorting with sorrow.

"Alright, we'll get it now." the boy broke at last. "But we have to do it quickly."

"Do what quickly?"

Wufei jumped, and then turned to see Trowa sliding down the incline towards him. Briefly, he chided himself for being so indifferent to their surroundings. But then again, Trowa had always been able to appear with practically no trace. Heero was worse.

"Nothing. Go back." The Chinese pilot commanded, knowing full well that Trowa wouldn't listen. It was a matter of seconds before the tall youth was standing at his side. It took him even less time to understand what "it" was.

"...oh." the word came out slightly breathless. Trowa's eyes were glued to the scene below, though they lingered with quiet sadness on Quatre, now futilely trying to battle his way through the reeds along the near shore. Such an effort... quietly, the green-eyed boy bowed his head in respect.

Wufei on the other hand, continued to peer up and down the incline with a fearful eye. "Where's Yuy?" the question was peppered with anxiety.

Trowa shrugged a little, still preoccupied with what was happening beyond. "I'm not sure. We split up a while ago."

"Well, where do you think he could be? Did he say where he was going?"

"No." a shake of the head. "Just a sweep of the land. Like you."

"We can't tell him about this. He can't know." Wufei's tone was deathly serious... one which matched Trowa's subtle affirmative.

"I know."

They looked on in silence.

* * *

(DUO's POV— somewhere on the road...)

* * *

The concept dawns on me like the break of morning. Maybe I've gone totally bonkers. Really. Like, off the wall? Crazy and insane and institutionalized forever. End of story. End of... _life_. That's the same as death, right?

"You aren't crazy." Solo is assuring me again."You're dead. There _is _a difference."

I wonder why can't he just be an asshole. He would be so much easier to hate, then.

"Thanks." I sigh at him, though I'm not sure what I can believe anymore. Words are becoming harder and harder to drag out of me. That, at least, I can hold on to. Conversation, I mean. What the fuck do I have anymore, anyway? No power. No breath. No Heero. No heartbeat. No fuzzy local access TV, or those little toaster tarts I like to eat but can never get. I'm fucked.

"Will you quit being so gloomy? This isn't the end of the world."

I turn slow eyes to him, incredulous beneath several hundred layers of exhaustion and depression. And as I lean in, close to his smiling face, I decipher an appropriate answer.

"I'M _DEAD_!"

Solo jumps at the shock of my voice, and then frowns critically. "So?"

"_So_? SO? I'm lying all cold and comatose somewhere, aren't I? Just, tell me this... has rigor mortis set in?"

From his seat, Solo huffs a breath of something in-between amusement and dismissal, and I know he isn't going to answer me. Again. That son of a cock sucking piece of shit. If I had a shotgun, I'd blow a hole in his head so wide, a poodle could leap through it like a hula hoop. Screw the fact that he may already be dead. I could still fuck him up.

"Look, Duo. It's like this... you aren't going to gain anything by being angry. Just enjoy the ride, alright? Can't you lean back a little? Put up your feet, take a nap or something. Relax, man." there's that casual grin again... the one I'm growing to hate. "Because we may be together for a while."

"Easy enough for you." I mutter gloomily. "You do this all the time, I'll bet. Well, fuck that. I hate this. And I bet I don't even have to pee anymore, so we can't even stop for bathroom breaks, can we? Where's the end of this tedium, huh? We'll just go on, and on and on and on, until forever."

Solo shrugs mildly. "Maybe. Or maybe not. Dunno."

"What do you mean, 'you don't know?' How can you not know?"

"It doesn't work like that." The boy's eyes are distancing now, like he's thinking hard about something. But I doubt he'd evertell me what it is.

"Well, how the hell is it supposed to work, then? Couldn't you just-"

"Can it!" Solo cracks at last. "God _damn _it, can't you shut up for five minutes? You're making a bad impression!"

Shocked a little at the sudden display of irritation, I'm slightly taken aback, though, the reaction doesn't last very long. Who does he think he is? Bad impression on who? Fuck this.

"What the fuckingshitare you talking about, man?"

"That!"

Solo jabs a stiff finger out into the scenery in front of us, I suddenly realize what my friend has been looking at. He wasn't having a moment of introspective... he was trying to spot something on the horizon. Something that, until a few seconds ago, I hadn't realized was steadily approaching us.

"Holy shit. What does that mean?" I breathe, eyes wide with an awe I'm not sure I understand.

Solo is grim-faced now, and slowly, he brings the car to a halt. He yanks up the parking break with a final, excruciating screech, and we at last are still, bathed in the ominous orange light of the ever-constant dusk.

We've arrived at a crossroad.

Feeling eyes burning into the side of my face, I turn my nervously sweating face towards Solo. He, true to my intuition, is staring at me.

"You're bored? You asked for it, so here it is. This is judgement, Duo. Time to choose."

* * *

In the Real World...

* * *

River water swirled and circled sluggishly around Quatre's knees, lapping just a little at the fabric covering his thighs in a dreary attempt to drag his upright figure downstream. Standing amongst the slimy river rocks, the boy ignored the call of the river, and instead looked for all the world as if he'd lost himself somewhere along the forging.

"Duo..." the words escaped him, though more as a sigh than a spoken name... a sorrowful sound carried away on the hissing breeze, through the reedy plants which patched along the nearest shore.

From this distance, (a yard at most) it was almost impossible to misidentify the ghostly face of the half-beached body which lay sprawled before him. Duo's smiling features, now contorted cruelly into an expression similar to mild worry, were the most obvious sign by which to identify the body as the one which once had harbored his friend's congenial soul. The braid was next, a dark, muddy rope against the grey silt of the shore. His clothes were muddy as well... though, here and there a pinch of color would show through the mess to reveal a black and red cotton jacket, what was once a white t-shirt, and a well-loved pair of jeans the boy had insisted on keeping, despite the growing number of patches he personally had painstakingly sewn into their ragged holes. He was huddled in on himself, though half in the river, as if he were, even now, trying desperately to keep his body heat contained. One arm however lay upright and exposed, and his fingers trailed into the water, curling a little into his palm where tiny silver fish nibbled.

Quatre kneeled by the curling figure, and sighed a ragged, heart weary sigh. Almost instantly, his hand went out to caress the figure's wet bangs, pushing away the mud and smoothing the brow. Duo's head was freezing to the touch. It was only a moment before the blonde's vision misted over, and he buried his face in his now filthy hands.

Back on the incline, Wufei continued to warily eye their surroundings, though it was slowly becoming obvious that this task was nothing more than a tool for avoiding the scene below. Trowa recognized this instantly, though he said nothing. His brave friend couldn't bring himself to cry in the presence of others. That much was understandable. However, if Wufei continued to suck on the insides of his cheeks with the same jaw-grinding intensity, he would bite himself unintentionally and bleed himself sick.

/You can swallow up to a quart of blood before you have to throw up./ Trowa reminded himself dully as he observed the Chinese boy's expression of smothered unhappiness. /Maybe throwing up would make him feel a little better./

The silence dragged on, and they watched as Quatre knelt amongst the reeds of the far shore above the familiar body, and rocked in soundless sorrow.

"What is he doing?" Wufei suddenly exploded, now staring at Quatre's crouching back. A second later, he began to pace.

Eyeing the shifting youth with a hint of admonishment, Trowa shook his head a little. "Mourning."

"Is it really the time for that?"

"You can't choose when the impulse will claim you."

"You _can_." came the defiant reply, and Wufei clenched his jaw a little tighter. "He just isn't trying hard enough. Make him try harder. He'll listen to you. We've got to get out of here, and we've got to do it before Yuy shows up and kills us all."

"Why would he do that?" mild disinterest, bitter still with the twinge of sadness.

"Guilt by association. We're at the scene of the crime."

A shake of the head. "No. Heero wouldn't do that."

Wufei was chewing on his thumb now, rapidly shortening his nail to the quick. "How do you know that? Don't you know what Maxwell was to him? What kind of... relationship they had with one another? Yuy'll be literally devastated. He won't be able to handle it. He's too calm... too collected. No human can function under those inhuman parameters!"

Shooting the other a sharp glance, Trowa narrowed his eyes in a way which could almost be described as dangerous, if it weren't for the painful upturn of his shadowed eyebrows. "I know that. I just, have doubts about how he'll react. Not like you think."

"No?" Wufei gave a strained little laugh... a look which shortly after seemed to sicken him. "We'll all see what happens, if we don't move on. How would you feel if you found Quatre mangled and waterlogged at the bottom of a river?"

"_Enough_!" Trowa barked, causing Wufei to flinch. But the boy didn't continue. He merely brought his hand up from the fold across his chest, and smoothed his forehead in silence. Wufei frowned.

"I apologize." came the murmur from the ponytailed youth, at last. "That, perhaps was too far. But I still disagree with you. This crime scene won't be tolerated well."

Trowa shook his head. "This was no crime. See where the skid marks lead down the path here?" methodically, the tall boy gestured to a series of shallow gashes leading over the crest of the hill above them, to the place where the earth met the road. "This was an accident."

But Wufei was no longer paying attention. Instead, his eyes, now round with alarm, seemed to bug from their sockets as he stared in the opposite direction– down thirty yards to the river's bend.

There, sinking ankle-deep into the sludge of the muddy river floor, stood Heero.

* * *

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everybody who has taken some time out to review: K-myth (haha, your attention to detail pleases me ) Amy-chan (thanks for the suggestions!) ZaKai (kind commentary is always appreciated) ahnchan (consistent reviews! Yayaya!) Ravekizu (thanks for reading! I know it doesnt make much sense -.-;; ) and crazy-lil-nae-nae (haha, whats wrong with grabbing your own butt?)

Anyway, I hope to get the next chapter up soon. Stick with me here, y'all, I'm finally beginning to actually get into a real story. O.O;;

Until Next Time


	6. The Last Dance

Author's note: hmm. Wow. I've been thinking about how to approach this chapter for a pretty long time. So that should be some sort of signal to let you know (if not just a reminder to me) that this is supposed to be... like... you know... that important thing... that happens in stories...What was it? Where stuff actually happens? Like... OH, plot development! Riiiight... Hahaha. Yeah. That's rich. well, I guess we'll see. Don't shoot me for taking us strange places. Oh these dangerous waters.

* * *

**Warning Signs (part VI) The Last Dance**

By Onions Make Me Cry

* * *

(one year prior)

"Baby don't you know I love you so, can't you feel it when we touch? I will never never let you go, I love you oh so much..."

The half sung, half hummed lyrics settled nicely in the dry afternoon air, despite the dusty aftertaste the hotel room had to offer. Having long since thrown open the windows to the brightness of the day, Duo Maxwell wafted between a flimsy looking chest of drawers and his overflowing duffle bag, folding and arranging as if he were moving into a brand new Barbie Malibu Dream Palace. Some particular glint seemed to have caught him on this day, adding a mysterious touch of happiness to the mechanical, menial tasks of moving and folding.

"Well you can dance, you can carry on 'till the night is gone and it's time to go," the youth hummed, resplendent today in a pair of black slacks and an old tan beater, (complete with holes in the places where it was beginning to wear thin.) "If he asks if you're all alone, can he take you home, you must tell him no..."

The carpet gave silently under Duo's waltzing feet as his body reacted to the internal rhythm, and he swayed gently to the imaginary music, tail end of his braid nipping the air. Back and forth he went, between the bed and the drawer, again and again as if some higher quality of optimism were demanding a longer stay this time, in this place. This mission would be different. More time here, maybe... Possibly a little calm. regularity even? Security. Maybe that was why Duo was bothering to unpack at all. He was usually so messy.

Heero sat stationed in the corner, watching his companion sway to the silent melody, under the false pretense of writing a letter to Quatre. Curled as tightly into the tiny space he'd created in the shadowy, desk-cramped crevice, the young assassin had completely frozen into one singularly uncomfortable position hunched over his paperwork, in favor of staring furtively after Duo as he busied himself with the unpacking of their things.

"Cause don't forget whose takin' you home, and in whose arms you're gonna be... Hey Heero, did'ja end up getting a new identification card for B-13?" Duo broke the song for a moment, casual and easy, though still busy with folding. "Cause, if you don't have clearance, I really don't wanna have to hack you past security again because that takes, like, fifteen valuable minutes."

It took a brief moment for Heero to realize the question had been asked, and almost embarrassedly, he began rifling through his papers again. Had he just been caught staring? Or had Duo really noticed anything at all? Probably the latter, but the mere concept of ever being detected doing something as weak (not to mention as unproductive) as that, would be demeaning as best.

"Yes. Last Thursday, from down in the city."He voiced, sounding particularly deadpan.

"Good. And what about the bits and tools thingamabob?"

"A travel tool case isn't a 'thingamabob'."

"Doesn't matter. Deathscythe's all ship-shape anyway. Don't need repairing right now." The tone was light and dismissive, Duo having long ago found out how to block Heero's cynical tones from his attention. "We'll head out in the morning, aces?"

Heero made a muted grunt of acquiescence, but said nothing further. Instead he busied himself with reading the paperwork spread out on the desk.

However, if it was silence Heero desired, he would have to find it someplace else. It was moments before the singing resumed again, touching the stiff-shouldered soldier's ears with the same melodic lull of the old-time melody... though this time a bit louder, and a bit lustier.

"_Oh_, Cause don't forget whose takin' you home and in whose arms you're gonna be, hey darlin' save the last dance for me."

A glance in the braided boy's direction revealed Duo waltzing circles in the center of the room now, with Heero's rubbery motorcycle jacket in tow as a new partner.

"Say darlin, save the last dance for me. Oh please darlin' save the last dance for me..."

Silently, and into his papers, the slightest private smile crept it's way across Heero's lips.

>>>

>>>

* * *

(Current time– the riverbed)

The boy lay spread before Heero, grotesquely peaceful. And yet, Heero couldn't help thinking that something beautiful still lingered about him. It was in the wet creases of his clothes, maybe... And in the delicate curve his neck made. It was impossible not to stare... That pale, round face was turned to the side, lulling as if in sleep, into the muddy shallows of the river's shore. In the distance, an early rising marsh bird let out a lonely warble, greeting the gloomy morning from within the misty reeds, and all was still.

"Heero," Quatre breathed the name, both in fear and empathy as he crouched by Duo's immobile figure.

For an impossible minute, Heero stood sinking into the sludge of the river floor, staring for lack of any reaction at all, and into the face of his downed lover, partner, and friend. The seconds dragged by, excruciating in their length, as each pilot stood with baited breath, waiting for the terrible and inevitable explosion which would inexplicably come. Their wait wasn't a long one.

Heero launched himself into movement with a frightening speed, sloshing down the final separating yard between himself, and where Quatre was now standing, feebly trying to deflect him from viewing the horrible site. It took a simple fist to knock the protesting blonde out of the way, and Heero ignored the strangled shout of protest from Trowa, somewhere on the muddy incline behind him. Duo was the goal, anyhow.

When handling the cold figure, Heero used very little of the tenderness Quatre had felt necessary. In fact, the now stony faced soldier was using every opportunity to give the body a series of good, violent shakes, as if he were trying to hear his soul still rattling around inside it's frozen shell like a can of marbles as he dragged Duo ashore.

For a few minutes, all that could be seen was the dip and glide of Heero's shoulder blades through his thin shirt as he began to yank the waterlogged jacket away from the frozen body in his arms. Already sinking here into the mud of the river's edge, what had once been the last dry foot of Heero's pants were slowly beginning to turn a putrid, sticky puce. Duo was covered in the mud in a matter of seconds, now that he was out of the immediate flow of water. However, Heero seemed to mind very little about the mud– or, moreover, was resolutely focused on his task at hand, and couldn't be otherwise distracted.

The jacket went flying.

But then, a shudder of something unintelligible passed through Heero's figure, his hands still busy with smoothing and warming, and for the first time in what seemed like an eon of life the lonely soldier did something completely and utterly uncharacteristic. He turned his face and shot his friends an incriminating look of such pure loathing that it couldn't have been mistaken for anything other than the fury of love.

"How could you leave him in the water?" Heero suddenly exploded at Quatre, a violent inquiry shouted over the shoulder as he wrenched Duo's flopping limbs close to him. Mud wracked up around Heero's knees, and he threw the cold body out flat on it's back. Trowa began scrambling down the opposite bank as the boy fell to CPR.

Still tumbled over backwards, Quatre watched as the murky water swirled around his shoulders, with a look of infinite pain. Heero struggled alone. The blonde ignored the throbbing in his cheek, or the red reflection of the quickening bruise Heero had given him. They meant so little now, as he listened to the sickening squelch of Duo's waterlogged clothes as Heero pounded down on him, attempting a revival. Back and forth, Heero moved between mouthfuls of air, which sickened Quatre as they mocked the sanctity of a kiss, and then back again to the squelching, squeezing pounding on Duo's soggy chest. The young boy looked on in silence, no longer willing to interfere.

>>>>

>>>>

* * *

(afterlife duo POV- the crossroads)

Before me spreads quite possibly the greatest choice my immortal soul could ever conceive of making. The hugest most monumentally critical moment in the history of my entire soul– and as each path forks out into the different leads of the crossroad, I can almost see the horizon giving me the joyful finger. Like it's shouting 'Fuck you, Duo, this ain't gonna come easy.' and adding extra uncertainty to my inevitable choice.

I can't help but flash back to that distant and comforting time as a child, when I knew everything. I knew the world, as a little boy. I was so sure. So resolute in my actions. I've always known what to do, where to step, how to go. What to think. How to speak. Who to work. (And I worked 'em good.) But now, from the passenger seat of this God damned (and that's saying now with complete certainty that he exists) Station Wagon, sweating with nervousness, I look between my crossroad options and have no idea how to proceed.

Left? Or should we go Right? Or straight?

"You look like you're going to piss yourself!" Solo is laughing at me again, but I can't listen anymore. He can't tell me which path I should choose. Or, where any of my options will lead me.

"Hey, fuck off... This is totally critical and you're laughing at me..." I spout off a reply, though I'm not really behind it. My thoughts are in the scenery in front of us.

Silence settles as Solo's chuckles taper off, and out of the corner of my eye, I watch him lean back, unbuckle his seatbelt, and set a sneakered foot up on the dashboard. Maybe he's finally decided to lay off for a while. (His relaxed posture certainly would suggest so.) Well.. Good. His constant fucking mood swings were beginning to grate on me anyway.

Left? Right? Left... right... straight? No, left. But, straight might be... right. No, I mean go right, not right right– actually, left! Straight left, bearing right? Or Just straight? Or left all the way? Is that right? Where is heaven, anyway? Will I have to wander around wearing a pair of Burkenstocks with a harp wedged under my arm? Or is it hell for me? That seems more likely... I've escaped that place, idea, fear, so many times, it's like, karmic justice that the man downstairs should get my ass this time around. Oh well. At least people spend some of their time fucking down there, instead of playing horseshoes with halos and eating marzipan up there. My balls ache.

A heavy sigh distracts me from my thinking. Solo is peering into the sky, now both feet up on the dash and his hands folded behind his head. He looks strangely put-off.

"What?"

He shakes his head.

Let me just clear a little something up... If there's something I hate, more than rapists, Benedict Arnolds, or cannibals, it's people who have something to say, but decide to fucking can up instead, like they know deep down you're gonna ask, 'what?' and somehow it makes the story more exciting-like for them. Jucier, kinda.. That just kills me. (Err... metaphorically, anyway.) So, of course, now that he's denied me an answer, I have to know. No, scratch that, I've got to. I _need _to know.

"What?" I insist again. "Look, you threw me off track anyway with that sigh, so just, fucking say it."

"Ehh..." Craning his head, my dead friend is flat out staring now, up beyond the hood of the car and into a patch of sky I can't see. "I dunno... I'm not supposed to discuss non-transportational information with the recently deceased. It isnt pertinent. Or, it isn't supposed to be, anyway..."

"Jesus Christ, just tell me!"

And suddenly, for the first time since the beginning of this trip, I get the distinct feeling that Solo may not be the omnipotent being I thought him to be. It's the look on his face, I think... He looks... worried? Concerned at the least, but paranoid at the most. Mostly when I thought of death before, it was pretty much the movie bag. Hood. Scythe, and all that jazz. My kinda guy, right? But right here, this piece of shit is sitting in a bucket of insecurity and questioning like some kinda fucking kid... a kid a lot like me. Who is this? He seems a lot less like an employee for a higher being than so much as a boy playing a practical joke.

"I think... it's going to rain." he says at last.

I huff irritatedly. Was that the whole fucking deal? "So what?"

Solo slowly lowers his feet off the dash, and is sitting up now, eyes glued to the sky. His thin fingers wrap tightly around the steering wheel, and I can see the sag in the seat from where he's leaning into himself, in order to get a better view. Feeling his nervousness, I look up too.

The sky is darkening, and in the distance, heat lightning illuminates the heavy, low hanging clouds.

"What's up?" my question has a little edge to it.

Solo shakes his head, sounding mystified. "It doesn't rain here."

An ominous, questioning silence takes us as the first fat splatter of rain hits the windshield.

>>>>

>>>>

* * *

Author's Note: Man, I edited the shit out of this chapter and it still didnt come out like I wanted it. Okay, well on to some thanks and comments...

Lile Arresty: Ah! At last some intelligent questioning of my methods! Not to discredit general compliments, but one can learn so much from a good scrutinizing. To answer your question, this is a lot of me just writing. Venting situationally through a story about my own life. There are lots of parallels that I won't go into, but, a lot of Duo is bolstering a lot of me. Haha, though I do have a plan. There IS a plot line in here, I swear to god.

Anonymous commenter on Chap.5: I think I love you. Can we have babies together? Are you a girl? It doesnt matter, our love should be pure! Haha, no, if you can't tell, I really appreciated your comment. It made me feel good! You got all the important stuff I try to convey, non plot withstanding. Lets get married!

kcgal: haha! I'm so glad you like my Solo! I thought of making him a little like Duo, though more grown up. I'll try and update faster this time.

Shannon: Thank you for your close reading and smart comments! I like that you read all the chapters at once, because a lot of the time I get bored and have to skip stories. This makes me think you have a genuine interest, which makes me happy!

Zakai: thank you for your CONSISTENT commentary! Someone who really reads! I love you! Lets be friends.

Anyway, look forward to some closing chapters coming soon. Sequel maybe? Hmmm...


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